The BreakUp Diaries
by Massao-na-Mizu
Summary: [AU] After suffering from a breakup, Kagome has to encounter so many trying moments and such...also, she thinks she's falling for a guy that's a known heartbreaker...
1. Default Chapter

A/N: A new fic. Whoopee… ^_^ And guess what? Inu Yasha is only an extra here! And Sesshoumaru is younger than Kagome! And also, it's a Mir/Kag. If ya don't like it, then you can always not read it. ^_^ It's gonna be voiced by Kagome! 

Disclaimer: The story where I got my story belongs to Maya O. Calico while the characters do not belong to be either. So please don't sue me.

**Chapter 1:**

**February 1, (past ****midnight****, my room)**

Has anybody seen my self-esteem?

I think I may have tossed her out on her nice, decent, well-mannered ass in the trashcan, together with the empty bottle of Gato Negro Merlot I swallowed to the last drop last night. A girl can do that-lose things when she's had a little too much to drink. And I don't drink. Well, OK, but only when the occasion calls for it; like New Year's Eve, or at the annual gang out-of-town thingie in Tagaytay/Baguio/Tali Beach which legitimizes drunken bonding.

Or now that Kouga, the guy I've been thinking about/ breathing for every waking hour of this past year, has told me, "This isn't working." Like our relationship was the windup toy that came from his Happy meal-the hopping hamburger he was so amused with in the beginning. When it suddenly refused to walk/ roll/ jump, he didn't want it anymore.

It was an occasion that literally begged for inebriation, if you ask me. Medical Science has confirmed that alcohol is indeed a great anesthetic. And boy, I so don't need to feel this pain right now. Bottoms up, then.

Don't worry: I'm pretty sure the million and one soiled, balled-up wads of tissue that got in the trash can ahead of my self-esteem cushioned her fall. Otherwise, I would have heard her scream or painfully simper at the least.

But then again, my self-esteem has always been the polite one. 

Always doing the right thing. Covering her mouth when she coughed. Saying "I'm sorry" when she inadvertently stepped on someone's toes or intercepted somebody's cab in the taxi line at Glorietta.

Blurting out "excuse me" after she coughed –even if she was the only person in the room.

Forgiving her super busy boyfriend if he didn't call when he said he would. Like those nights Kouga insisted on drinking with the boys/dinner with his family/basketball with his officemates instead of seeing a chick flick/trying out this new food place/watching a new VCD of an old film like _Singing In the Rain with his girlfriend. Each time he was unfortunately supposed to be somewhere else, my self-esteem sagged just a bit only to recover and chirpily answer. "That's okay, Babe."_

After all, I patiently assumed he was being in his proverbial "cave", wanting to be his primal lonely self.

And boy, my self-esteem was quite the bouncy kind.

She always had the right things to say to a friend who had failed miserably-whether that friend lost a parent, a job, a boyfriend. My self-esteem had that proactive go-go manner of Stephen "Seven Habits of Highly Effective People" Covey or Deepak "Seven Spiritual Laws" Chopra.

Or, God forbid that sappy Bo "You can have a Beautiful Life" Sanchez.

In short, she was disgustingly perfect.

And all it took for her self-esteem to shrink from its former size XL to a diminutive, breathe-constricting size XXS where three words: "This isn't working."

I want to curl up and cry myself to sleep—again. See previous entry for a reason.

**(previous entry)**

**January 31, ****5:41 a.m.******

I'm giddy in manner of a ten-year-old on the morning of her birthday. Except that it's not my birthday today.

It's my anniversary! Not month-sary, but anniversary as in one year of coupled bliss with Kouga Kakeshi!

I slipped on my black slacks, cardigan and Nike sneaks just in time for 6:15 mass. Thanksgiving time, you know. Have a bit more time to muse about joys of couple hood.

Except for Hojo—pseudo-boyfriend-slash-pen pal in second year high school- Kouga is my first real relationship. I mean, hello, Hojo and I exchanged nothing but letters and shy glances the few times we actually met.

But Kouga and I, well, we've exchanged… so much more. In fact, he has been the topic of conversation with just about anyone who was willing to listen. Can't help it-I'm stricken with a terminal case of Kouga-mentionitis. With mom, during our monthly overseas calls. With Yura-best bud and requisite beautiful friend-who's very impressed with our love affair to date. (The fact that Yura hasn't been with the same guy for more than six months puts my 364-day love affair with Kouga on level with Historical biggies like Edsa Dos, the legalization of annulment in the Philippines and the invention of the low-riser thing.) With Inu Yasha-male best friend fascinated by hanyous and youkais-who suspects Kouga is really a wolf demon in lawyer's clothing.

**Same day, ****9:04 am******

Subjected Father (You pick name) to Kouga-mentionitis at confessional this a.m.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," I croaked.

"Yes, my child," Father (You pick name) replied from behind the webbed window. "What are your sins."

I paused—I was hoping my voice would sound unrecognizable to Father, who is probably onto me and the "sins" I regularly 'fess up to him month after month. But given slight distortion on my audio at 6 am, I was pretty sure he couldn't tell it was me, Kagome Higurashi, guilty of the following transgressions, namely:

"I've had impure thoughts about my boyfriend, Father…"

"Go on, my child…"

"…and I've engaged in deep kissing with him a couple of times…"

"Go on…"

"…and I've allowed him to, uhm, sort of touch me… below my neck, Father…"

The good priest let out a heavy sigh.

"My child," he said, slowly and gently. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak…"

_I hear you, Father! I hear you!_

Can I help it that Kouga is tall, handsome and built like Tom Cruise at his prime? Pretty sure any girl in her right frame of mind would likewise be tempted. And isn't that what penance is for?

"God knows your heart, your intention to do the holy thing…"

_Amen, Father. I would like to stay a virgin until I am married but I can't help enjoying make out sessions with my boy. I'm only human, right?_

"But you've got to do your part and not put yourself in tempting situations, my child."

_Now how do I do that, pray tell? Especially with a romantic candlelit dinner and very probable hot-and-heavy kissing session in cards tonight._

_                                                                          Oh Father, forgive me!_

"How's that, Father?"

"Do not stare at the wine when it is red," he said ambiguously. 

Sounds like a secret Church code I should already know now that I am a 23-year-old Catholic. Perhaps it's Father (You pick name)'s poetic/biblical way of saying _"Thou shalt not have sex"?_

"For your penance, say one Our Father, 10 Hail Marys and one Glory Be, my child…"

"Thank you, Father," I said meekly.

"God Bless you, Kagome." He replied.

I'm so busted.

**Same day, ****7:08 pm******

One of the rare nights in my life Yura convinced me to wear mascara, and she unwittingly lent me one of the non-smear proof variety. 

**Rule number 1:** Never experiment with new makeup techniques on night of big date. Unless it's a fundraiser for the World Wildlife Fund and you've decided to come as a wasted panda/raccoon.

I have other plans, though. I want to look drop-dead gorgeous in manner of Hollywood star walking down the red carpet during Oscar night (and hopefully doesn't trip). Or maybe at least a rung above average for this one evening.

I rummaged for baby oil and cotton balls to repair my unsuccessful attempt to achieve this season's smoky eye (courtesy of M magazine's "New Year, New You" issue). Kouga will be here in 16 minutes, but I'm not even half-way to scintillating! Hopefully, the Little Black Dress sprawled on my bed will make all the difference.

Good luck to me! I will be a dazzling diva when I meet my prince in the lobby.

                                                                                           * * * * * * * * * * *

It was 7:30 on the dot when I got his text message:

**Kouga:** I'm downstairs at the lobby.

As usual. My punctual, perfect sweetie. I thumbed back my reply: On my way down. See you. **;-)**

I searched for my keys, locked up the apartment and ran to the elevator in my bare feet, my three-inch stilettos in one hand, my handbag in the other. I felt like Dorothy (Renee Zellwegger)  in that scene from Jerry McGuire when she ran to meet Jerry (Tom Cruise) in the street.

Pretty Black Dress, check

Black cardigan, check

Rosy cheeks and breathless anticipation, check

Updo with loose tendrils, check

Lithe, sylph-like silhouette, check

Well, give or take an extra 10 pounds. But Yura reassured me The Dress gave me the illusion of slimness. She helped picked me out, saying I deserved a little splurge on the momentous occasion. 

In the elevator, I closed my eyes and ran a finger across the smooth ceramic mug, tracing a slightly raised swirl of paint on the surface. Like I was blind and reading Braille. Kouga is going to love this, I whispered to myself. 

Twenty floors down later, I sashayed across the lobby, trying to look as sexy and comfortable in my heels, visualizing Kouga's expression upon seeing how extra special I looked tonight.

"This isn't a dress, it's an Audrey Hepburn movie," I sighed to myself like a mantra. "I am an Audrey Hepburn movie. I am an Audrey Hepburn movie…"

Gasps! Kouga looked very handsome.

"Hey," I smiled from the top step  of the front entrance, tilting my head for extra-'cuting' effect.

"Hey," he grinned back from the driver's seat of his car which was purring in the drive way. "Let's hurry or we'll lose our reservation at Viet Kong."

I teetered down the steps and deposited myself on the leather seat next to him. I kissed his clean-shaven cheek as he twiddled with the radio, finding a station. God, he smelled good-like musk, soap and clean air-conditioning.

Kouga settled on what sounded like a basketball game.

"Got a thousand pesos bet riding on this game, so hope you don't mind if I listen to the last three minutes," he said.

"No prob, hunny," I said, then raised my hand to fondle the back of his neck. Kouga leaned towards me, his hand running down my right shoulder, down my back to the base of my spine, then what felt like my, my, uhm, my butt?

"Kouga!" I giggled. "Can you wait till later? I just got in the car!"

He looked puzzled. "Huh?" he asked, slightly peeved. "I was just checking if you sat on my cell phone. Can you feel it?"

"Oh—no, I can't." I felt my face slightly burn.

"Sorry," he laughed, rubbing my back. "I could have sworn I left it on the seat-"

"Aaaaaah!" I yelped, as I felt a vibration under my thigh. I reached underneath my butt to fish out Kouga's Ericsson Mobile. One text message received. 

Kouga grabbed it from my hand with the lightning-speed reflexes that made him a college hoop hottie.

"There you are!" he said, looking very happy and relieved to see his phone. Kouga replied to the text with frantic thumb moves, before he turned to me.

"Office stuff," he smiled. "I'm starved, are you?" 

~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~

Kouga seemed a little preoccupied all throughout dinner. 

His phone was busy beeping messages all night. Most of the time, he looked up from his _cang__ cua boc tom (shrimp on crab legs) to answer a text message. Ever since he'd been hired as a junior associate at Damyo, Kakeshi and Doku- his father's law firm-he'd been too busy to just hang out with me. Some days, he'd call to say he couldn't come over because Mr. X and his mistress en route to the airport._

Dame control, he says, I say, it's fine.

Meanwhile, I limited my food intake to Vietnamese spring rolls and soup for fear that I'd pop out of my dress. Give optins, I decided to just chew the fact.

"Inu Yasha is inviting all of us to their house in Subic (a great place found in the Philippines where Ocean Adventure is located) on Saturday," I said in my most sweet/flirty (not in a bad slutty way). "Let's go!"

"Who's us?" he chewed.

"Well, there's you and me, Naraku and Yura and Sango."

He wrinkled his nose at the name of Naraku. "Can't, have work."

"On a Saturday?" I said, almost disbelievingly.

"I might be off to Cebu (where I think Boracay Beach is nearly located, but not inside the place's vicinity-it's a beach with pure white sand) for a convention."

"This Saturday?" I couldn't believe it.

"Whenever you guys are doing Subic. But you go." He simply told me.

"You don't like my friends, Babe?"

"Kagome, don't start." He said in a warning tone.

"That's OK, I won't go if you won't go."

"What are we? Joined at the hip?"

Then somewhere between dessert and Vietnamese coffee, Kouga said those three words. "This isn't working."

At first, I assumed Kouga was referring to a defective strainer through which hot water dripped. I efficiently inspected the faulty utensil.

"It's fine, Babe," I told him sweetly, after realizing it was in perfect condition. I fluttered my mascara'd lashes (with extra curling power), but caught something in my eyes instead.

"I didn't mean that," Kouga said impatiently, his dark gaze drilling holes in my _banh__ dua ca ramen (coconut flan with caramel). Politeness being one of my virtues, I pursued this line of conversation not knowing I was driving a stake deeper into my heart. I mean, I didn't exactly expect to hear those three words given the warm glow of tea lights on our faces, the soft guitar strains serenading us and my attempts to look above-average for the evening: For once, I wasn't wearing my trademark black slacks and black hoodie pullover that camouflaged me on my fat days (everyday of my life since I turned 15)._

"What isn't working, babe?"

Long pause.

Finally, Kouga looked up. "Us."

Was I hearing this right? Was Kouga Kakeshi breaking up with me on our—gasp!—first year anniversary?

I was too taken aback to have thoughts of some depth. The only thing that came to my mind was that, I would have saved the Php 3,699 (I think around 69 dollars-79) I spent on The Little Black Dress. I absentmindedly ran my hand over my lap to feel the fabric.

Kouga tried to break it to me as gently as he could. "I feel this last year has been a landmark year in my life, Kagome. I passed the bar and I'm in a job that's the envy of every guy in my batch…" he said his eyes downcast. "And had it not been for you, I wouldn't have sobered up and really buckled down to study and keep going when I was at my lowest."

I felt a lump quiver in my throat as I recalled our very first meeting a little over a year ago. A serendipitous encounter that I thought was the start of something very good, real and lasting. And I was right. Until this moment.

"Kagome, I am at a crossroads and I feet the need to appeal for a recess from our relationship."

"A what?" I asked.

"A recess." He mumbled.

Ah, yes. Lawyerspeak for 'a break'

From then on, there was no stopping the litany of legalese pouring out of his mouth. For a split second, I wondered how many years I'd get for stabbing a lawyer with a dessert fork. 

"But why? I thought we were fine," I implored softly.

"Correction, your honor, I beg to disagree," he replied, raising his palm up at me. "_You thought we were OK. But you made the conclusion on insufficient evidence." I would have loved punched him the gut if I didn't love him._

"But I thought you loved me," I said, ignoring his previous statement. Getting mildly desperate perhaps. "You said I was the wittiest girl you've ever met, that no one made you laugh the way I did… and that U had the cutest laugh."

"But you've changed, Kagome." He said, matter-of-factly.

Last time I checked, I was the same old Kagome he met at the Breakfast Club. Didn't he appreciate me watching his monthly basketball games instead of going out with Yura, Sango and Inu Yasha? All his family lunches? And all the other times I was available when he needed me?

"These days, I fee like your world revolves around me, like I'm the only person who can make you happy," said Kouga. "When I can't be with you, I feel guilty because I know you're just staying home watching some sappy 80's movie on HBO…"

"Don't you like that?" I asked. I felt I had just shacked a window marked "Break glass in case of sheer desperation."

"The part where you watch all day sappy movies?" I asked me stupidly and I was more than tempted to whack him on the head. I shook my head.

He sighed as realization hit him. "Oh Kagome, you're soooo nice…"

Somehow, the last statement didn't feel like a compliment. More like a character defect disguised as a well-meaning phrase.

He plowed on. "And I can't deal with the pressures of my work and…" he bowed his head. "making you happy."

~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~*`~

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Like I'd been smothered with a pillow in my sleep.

"You know…" Kouga smiled. "I haven't heard you laugh all night."

I looked him in the eye, holding back every tear that threatened to escape my ducts. Then I opened my mouth, hoping to tell him what was what in my thought bubble: "Would you laugh if someone was breaking up with you, you stupid git?"

But I couldn't say it. All I could do was listen to the drip, drip, drip of his coffee. (After all, we had established early on that, yes, the strainer was working.)

"I need to be alone for a while, Kagome." He finally said.

His words cut through the silence like a Bushido Blade, the weapon Japanese samurai used when they felt compelled to kill themselves. 

"Kags, please say something…"

Oh Kami. Kouga was using the nickname. Like he always did when he was desperate.

"My coffee needs more condensed milk," I muttered. Kouga tensely waved a waiter over to serve me. 

I sucked in my breathe, straightened up, then asked him, "How much time do you need?"

"I don't know…" Kouga said, burying his face in his big hands. "Don't wait for me, Kags."

Then his phone beeped a message.

I knew I had to let Kouga be. Relationship gurus like John Gray, Margie Holmes and Tita Dulce have all advised their dear readers the same thing: Let him go—if he comes back he's yours. If not, he was never meant to be. Or was that Sharon Cuneta's memorable line in _Dear Heart?_ Oh, whatever.

Later that night, after he had dropped me off and hurriedly sped away, I reached into my bag for the anniversary gift I had painstakingly painted, glazed and wrapped at Color Me Mine in Shangri-la Mall. At the bottom of the ceramic mug, I had scribbled five words in the hopes Kouga would read them every tie he drained his morning cup of coffee. It read: "Love, Your Latte Day Saint." 

End Of Chapter

Long chap for in my terms, ne? ^_^ Well, I hope that's good enough. And if ya have any suggestions, there's always that little review button down there. ^_^ Also, you can tell me what you think… refer to the review button again. ^_^ there are some grammatical errors, I'm aware of that, but that's the style they were talking so it was intended to be that way. ^_^

A bit of info:

Shangri-la Mall is this really big mall where lots of Actors and Actresses drop by. Mostly because of the fact there is an acting studio there where I took acting lessons just this summer of 2003. ^_^ It's a really great place, for all those Filipinos there and tourists. ^_^

Boracay- it's a tourist's feast place. Because it's really famous for its white sand and beautiful scenery. I know because I live in the country where it is located and I used to go there to sketch and put in oil painting the scenes I drew. ^_^ 

Also, I guess you're all thinking: Why put Kouga in that place when Inu Yasha's more suitable? A simple answer: it's too used and I'm trying not to be cliché. And as I've said, before, I'm a firm believer that every body has good in them that's why Yura became Kagome's friend. And while making reading the actual story, she fitted so well and I also have an assigned character for Kikyo. So please no flames and also, please review!!!

It took me three painstaking hours an hour after my 3hour painstaking lesson in Tae Kwon Do to write this. But I'm happy I take the lessons. ^_^ It's great in keeping me in shape. ^_-

So bye bye! And if ya need more data, review and I'll put some info in the next chap for ya!

P.S. This story is from Maya O. Calico and I decided to twist it a bit and make it anime-ish is because it's a really good book, but I don't think it will be sold in other countries because I myself had to translate a lot of words in this chap because it's half Tagalog. ^_^

Psst…

You see that button there?

*rolls eyes* yeah, the one on your right!!!

Yep, click it… don't be afraid…

Yes, you can do it! It's a must you review after reading a fic!

There! That wasn't so bad, no wasn't it? (Attempt to sound like a mommy trying to purr her baby after promising an injection would hurt a bit but was thinking it would hurt a lot) 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Breakup Diaries**

**Massao na Mizu**

Massao: sorry for the long time no update! For reason, check my bio! Like anyone would really care or anything! Than for all the lovely revs!

**  Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: The book was written by Maya O. Calico and characters are in favor of guess who?

A/N: Kaede is only um…her late thirties here and I changed Yura with Kikyo!  

**February 3, ****10:12 am******

       Paralyzing morning with Kikyo. Must have looked like discarded rag. Certainly felt like I had been dragged through the mud over protracted breakup dinner that I didn't even see coming.

       "Holy potato! Have you been stung by a bee or something?" Kikyo cringed, looking at my blue-puffy eyes.

       Then I broke down with the news. 

       "Oh no," she gasped. After hugging me tight for what felt like 10 minutes, she said: "That makes two of us then."

        As of last week, she and Naraku  Onigumo were cooling off indefinitely. I feel a wee bit better am not exactly all alone in new state of wretched dumpee. Then Kikyo walked me to the kitchen, in manner of physical therapist aiding invalid, and prepped me the following eye compress:

Ingredients:

2 tea bags (preferably green tea or of the chamomile variety)

ice

water

How to:

       Drop ice into a cup of water. Allow tea bags to steep in them for about 5 minutes. Place a bag over each eye to reduce puffiness.

       Kind of reminds me of that saying by Betty Ford (or was it Eleanor Roosevelt?): "Women are like tea bags; put them in hot water and they get stronger."

       Note to self: Make sure tea bags are steeped in cold---not hot---water! 

       Oh, why doesn't he love me anymore?!

**Feb 4, ****8:42 am******

        I had a heroic struggle to keep myself together. Must take to list-making as therapy. Perhaps sense of achievement will help me salvage my self-esteem? Miss her already!

My to-do list:

         -Clear room of debris. Goal: must see bottom of floor, not carpet of used Kleenex

         -Toss out trash First check for bruised ego in can. If still breathing, salvage and place in a box for safekeeping

         -Punch holes on box lid to provide ample oxygen supply (to ensure ego stays alive)

         -Check phone for messages (none so far)

         -Erase all saved messages from Kouga in phone inbox. Except the one were moi was referred to as His Precious Little Sweetie (edit to erase degrading word, 'little' and save the edited version to outbox)

        -Delete "Wolfie" in Phone Book to avoid texting him messages like "I miss you, Wolfie" or "Come back". Or worse, sending him a mistext in the hopes that he will reply. Utterly Pathetic.

        -Change "Wolfie" to "Darn Big Bad Wolf!!!" in phone book.

        -Call Inu, Sango and Kikyo for post-break up pow-wow.

        -Call in sick for work.

                                                                                *~*~*~*

        I rang up Auntie Kaede at the Breakfast Club as soon as I had successfully peeled myself off my bed---20 minutes past schedule.

        "Breakfast club," Auntie Kaede chirped into the receiver amidst a clatter of plates and teaspoons, all sorts of spraying sounds, and a cacophony of voices. Sure sounded like a busy day. I was suddenly struck by paralyzing case of _worst day_.

        "Tita Annie?" I mumbled.

        "Hey Kag, you're up," she said in her old voice. "On your way down to the café? Got a full house today."

        "Uhm how fully?"

        "As in full, full," Auntie Kaede chuckled. "My cup runneth over," she added mock dramatically. "What time can you be here? I have the espresso machine buzzing non-stop!"

        "I was hoping I could uhm, go, er, on, ahh, on leave today?"

        "_Bruha__*…(*witch)"_

        Uh-oh, was she mad? I hadn't used up all my leave credits yet, so why was she getting on my case?

        "Oh, I'm sorry Auntie, but…"

        "Decaf brew ha*! (Like ne in Jap)!" Auntie Kaede instructed one of the counter crew while speaking into the phone. "Sorry, what's wrong, Kagome?"

        "I don't feel so good. I feel I may have a flu…" I felt the sides of my mouth tug down as I explained myself.

        "Want to tell me all about it—lat--?"

        "Later? Oh, you want me to call later, Auntie?" Well, if too busy I can…

        "Latte?" Auntie Kaede called out to someone—not me.

        "OK, one café latte coming up!" she returned to me. "Sorry, Mr. Francisco's secretary is here to pick up his morning latte. What were you going to tell me later?"

        "I think I'm coming down--"

        "Great, come down, Kag! Need you big time. Thanks."

        Then, her end of the line clicked.

        "I think I'm coming down with a breakup fever, Auntie Kaede."

        Sheesh.

                                                                            *~*~*~*~*

**  Feb 4, ****9:28 am**

        I looked in the mirror this am and discovered something I had never seen before. A second chin. Smiling back at me. I'm 23—my order for a double chin shouldn't be due for at least another 30 years! Who's the wise guy who had it Fed-Exed to me via overnight delivery? Is it physically impossible to gain five pounds overnight?

        Can feel love handles around my waist. Arrgh! I have officially become a blimp! And it's all Kouga's fault. Damn him for treating me to all that rich food in fancy restaurants with his impressive lawyer paycheck. For telling me I looked pretty just the way I was, then insisting I watch his weekly basketball games instead of working out at the gym of playing badminton with Sango and Company. For saying I was fleshy, not fat.

        Perhaps he was fattening me up so no one else would look at me in manner of wanting to possess. Because the last thing he needed to worry about was some dude making play for his girl. His sweet, precious…_tabachingching__!* [fatty-a sweet way of saying someone she's fat and cute]_

        I can see it on T-shirt now: "My boyfriend dumped me, and all I have to show for it is my cellulite."

        I felt productive pulling out all my 'fat clothes' from the closet. But I seriously dread going to work. It feels like I have to go on a two—hour commute instead of mere three minutes in elevator to café at ground floor. Perhaps the will be elevator traffic?

                                                              `*`*`*`*`*`*`

        The Breakfast Club, all 50 square meters of it, was teeming with people when I walked in. when you've got a café that small, 10 people are enough to make the place feel like a mosh pit.

        I tied on my apron and assumed counter duty. I wasn't exactly looking forward to a day of serving up coffee or ringing up the cash register, but a girl has to make a living. I've been at this since the summer before college graduation. Mom had just left for Los Angeles to find work and I needed to make productive use of my spare time. Dad has passed away at Christmas, and my mother felt the need to earn more for the both of us. Auntie Kaede, Mom's youngest sister, also felt the change of scenery would be good for her. She had just set up BC and needed someone to take care of business while she assumed her day job as a senior purser for Cathay Pacific Airway.

        My job description: Work the espresso machine, keep countertop spanking clean, give correct change, maneuver CDs in the manner of a DJ, and tally daily sales.

        I liked the work so much that I never left. You could say it was like a summer fling that morphed into the real job "perk" I couldn't resist. And to be perfectly honest, I really didn't know what I wanted to do after college.

        After four years of English 101, Asian History, Statistics, and Communication Theory, my future stretched out before me as nebulous as a cloudy August sky.

        What's more, I discovered firsthand that job hunting was just that—a fight for whatever few slots were available to the graduating class. It truly entailed the survival of the fittest, and I wasn't up to the challenge.

        But Sango surely was. She was the smart one in our group. Thanks to her cum laude*(valedictorian), she had employers from Procter and gamble and San Miguel knocking down her door a few days before graduation. And Kikyo, despite her AB Economics degree, opted to turn her bead-making hobby into a full-time enterprise. In some ironic way, she was thankful her mother got an annulment from her father. Now she didn't need to get employed to avail a company car. Her dad readily bought her a silver Lynx as soon as the ink was dry on the annulment papers. Apparently, guilt has the power to do that. Inu Yasha was lucky. As scion to Bernardo Industries, he had a job waiting for him the moment he was born. But then, who care about getting Php 30,000 ($600-which is big enough in our country) a month if you'd rather live in Palawan, drinking pina coladas out of coconuts and romancing some blonde ex-stockbroker named Yura who was a warlock in her past life? 

       But then, Mom always told me you can't have everything. Auntie Kaede liked to joke that she was lucky enough to employ the only barista*(coffee maker) in the country who has a degree in Bachelor arts, major in Communication Arts.

       Just so the degree can flex its muscles a bit, she gave me an extra job: She let me write the menu for the Breakfast Club.

       Bananarama Split (two bananas split with Vanilla ice cream)

       St. Elmo's pie (apple pie in a la mode)

       Desperately Seeking Sushi (tuna sashimi rolled in vinegar-ed rice).

       Hungarian Like a Wolf (two Hungarian sausages served with potato salad)

       Must seriously rethink life plans.

       The booth at the Breakfast Club, with its red cushioned leather seats and shiny Formica tabletop, has seen happier times. Friday night dates that lasted into wee hours of the morning, cups overflowing with bottomless hazelnut coffee, conversations brimming with wit and innuendo. Couples who kissed between mouthfuls of the Bananarama Split as Tears for Fears crooned from the CD player behind the counter.

       But there was going to be none of that tonight. Not for as long as I was parked here. Alone. I quietly summoned St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, to slow down my racing heartbeat and hold back a torrent of tears. I wanted t feel as normal as I could. After all, there were cappuccinos to be served, sales to be punched up…

_       "The Reflexexexexexexexexex…"_

       ….and CDs to be changed.

       Or in this case, CDs to be reported to the piracy police of the Philippines. Aunt Kaede should seriously stop buying these obscure, strangely-titled, obviously pirated compilations CDs. (This particular one, entitled _Duran Duran in Concert_, was a dead giveaway.) As I walked over to the counter to change the music, Aunt Kaede waved me away.

       "I got this, Kagome."

       For a split second, the jarring noise of the CD skipping made me forget my heartbreak debacle with Kouga. Sweet relief was mine, no matter how short-lived—just when I felt I was going to be OK, the Universe sprang me a biggie.

_       "Give me time to realize my crime…"_

       Of all the CDs in her collection, Aunt K had to choose Culture Club's best Hits in the 80s. My shoulders quaked a la Billy Crawford, my eyes lactated a rivulet and I assumed the composure of spilt milk.

        "Wahhh!" I bawled shamelessly, very much like a woman having a nervous breakdown.

        Aunt Kaede rushed to my side. The leather seat squeaked against her thighs as she slid in the booth next to me. She rubbed my back with a warm hand and offered me a stack of paper napkins to decongest my nose.

        "Why? Why?" I sobbed. "Why isn'd id working oud. I thoughd we were huh u happy!"

         "Alright, let it out," Aunt Kaede told me as Boy George crooned on…

_         "Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?"_

          Breaking up really sucks, don't I know it, but I didn't need a cross-dressing 80s pop icon to drive that point home.

        I didn't ask for this. I didn't go to bed at night, secretly praying that God make the coolest, smartest boy in school fall in love with me. Getting Kouga Kakeshi to like me was more than a long shot—punches at the moon more like it.

        So you can't say I manipulated it into happening. Alright, so maybe I fantasized about it until it materialized—like the first time I laid eyes on Kouga in freshman year when he campaigned in my class for student body treasurer. Or when he led the Trailblazers to their sixth straight win at the UAAPs [a basketball league or something where Philippines colleges battle each other in Basketball] in sophomore year. And that time when he walked onstage to receive his summa cum laude medal on graduation day. Not to mention every day in between those big ticket moments.  

        OK, OK, so maybe my obsessive thinking had something to do with getting the Universe make our paths cross more than a year ago today, but this is exactly how it happened…

_        A trippy January shower tap-tapped on the awning if the Breakfast Club. How odd, I thought to myself as I arranged the coffee cups in neat rows about the espresso machine. It was a Friday night, but the café was virtually empty at __half past nine__. Usually, pop kids from the nearby college hung out here—six people squeezed into a booth designed to seat four—nursing their iced coffees for hours before hitting Chico—that "chill place"—at midnight for dancing and majoy partying._

_        Quite a departure from my Friday night agenda, the highlights of which are follows:_

_       -Prepare coffee for noisy college kids in quickest time possible, making sure I didn't get Nadia's mocha chino mixed up with Joaquin's ice frap or Lester's decaf non-fat café au lait._

_        -Provide nonstop musical entertainment courtesy of The Eurythmics, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Cyndi Lauper, U2, The Cure, Bananarama, Madonna or whatever "rare" 80s compilation CD Aunt Kaede had brought home from her latest flight._

_        I popped in Culture Club's best Hits in the 80s on the player, and settled down to read my copy of M magazine's February issue. Boy George was singing "I Tumble 4 U" while I answered a quiz titled, "How psychic are you?"_

_       And then, it happened._

_      The tiny bell attached to the front door tinkled. More like rang itself into a convulsion as the front door swung open. A man slogged his way into the café, his back drenched from the rain. He looked soaked to the bone, his hair rumpled, and his oversized jacket in dire need of dry cleaning._

_        Even in this disheveled state, I knew this stranger was no other than batch brainiac, all-around jock who enjoyed near-celebrity status in campus…_

_        Kouga Kakeshi. In the flesh._

_       Of all the coffee joints in all the __Katipunan Avenue__, he had to walk into mine. And he was drunk as a doorknob. A girl should be so lucky!!!_

_        Kouga dragged his size 12 sneakers to the corner of the café, followed by a trail of muddy tracks on the floor. He miraculously squeezed all six feet of his athletic mien into a booth, and then slumped over. Limp as a rag doll. A rag doll that had knocked down a napkin holder and sent paper napkins pargliding onto the café floor._

_       The muddy, wet café floor._

_        Under normal circumstances, I would have let out a tired sigh (in the manner of Judy Anne Santos in of her slaved or hurt roles) before fetching the mop from the closet to clean up the mess. But since my U. C. C. (__Ultimate__College__ Crush) had caused the topsy turvy, I pushed the matter aside._

_        There were other things to think about such as:_

_        Do I walk over there right now and introduce myself?_

_        Or do I wait for him to come to the counter like all paying customers do? Did my hair look alright? Would he recognize me from school? Do I call him Kouga Kakeshi or simply Kouga? Or is the latter a kind of in-crowd nickname reserved for just really his close friends?_

_        Oh, and there was that tiny, insignificant matter about my heart. It was thumping like a rabbit on ecstasy. _

_        But when I didn't see Kouga move for five minutes, I panicked. What if he had collapsed from alcohol poisoning? Or could he have sleepwalked into the café, in the rain, only to awaken clueless and sick with pneumonia tomorrow morning?_

_        So I tiptoed over to his table armed with the only First Aid I knew. _

_       Unfortunately, it wasn't CPR—damn. Instead, I brought him a large cup of steaming café latte._

_    I made like a mouse on a stealthy mission to score some cheese and walked over to him slowly and quietly. Rather silly, really, because what I really needed to do was make noise rouse him for his probable hypothermia/cirrhosis of the lvier/narcolepsy. _

_       So I tugged at his sleeve. No reaction. I tapped his shoulder. No movement. I pulled his hair. He didn't budge. Then I haltingly reached for his wrist for a pulse…_

_        "Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" I screeched._

_        Kouga's corpse had suddenly grabbed my wrist. He was still slumped on the formica tabletop, eyes shut. But he was speaking to me. TO ME._

_        "Am I dead yet?" he slurred._

_       "Uhm, apparently not, no, not yet," I stammered._

_       "You sure about that?" He opened one eye slightly, and stared at me._

_       God he's cute._

_        "Positive," I nodded, doing my best cool and collected act. _

_        "Prove it," he smiled weakly._

_        "Well," I nervously replied, "last time I checked, your beat was pulsing…"_

_         Idiot Stupid __Moron___

_        "What I meant was…" I slowed down, took a dee pbreath, and corrected myself, "your pulse was beating."_

_        Kouga smiled. Both his eyes were opened now. He pulled himself off the table, rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his arms upward. Then he propped his head onto an elbow, and stared at me through squinty eyes._

_        He said nothing. _

_        This was the first time I got an up-close-and-personal view of Kouga Kakeshi's sculpted square haw, doe-shaped brown eyes and comforting—much like the lights of a Christmas Tree—that I suddenly felt at ease despite his awesome physical presence._

_        "So if you aren't an angel, what are you?" he finally asked me. _

_        Angel? Did he just call me an angel?_

_        As in celestial being of the skies? Oh my god! Who cares if it sounds like a line?!_

_        I slid the cup of coffee right under his nose._

_        Mustering my most cherubic grin, I shyly said: "Your latte day saint?"_

_        A lazy smile stretched itself out on his full lips, like one would on a hammock. I think he liked that—he stayed on and we chatted until I closed the shop at __midnight__._

_        It amazed him, he said later on, that he should find an unlikely friend in a "in a funny, angel-faced, attentive coffee gal" (his exact words) just as the pressure to pass the bar multiplied exponentially (no thanks to daddy) and he had hit rock bottom._

_        Every night after that, Kouga showed up at The Breakfast Club and waited until I locked up the café to walk me to the lifts, them to my Aunt's apartment 20 lfights up the building. _

_        You could say we made beautiful elevator music together._

_        But that was a year ago.   _

                                                                     * * * 

**February 6, ****11:58 pm******

Reasons why Kouga broke up with me (must be written down, again and again, let I forget!):

1). I'm too nice—Kouga's words

2). "He's too cute for you"—Kikyo's point (reassess friendship with K)

3). "He's an asshole." Sango's opinion (everyone's entitled to one)

4). I didn't sleep with him—Inu Yasha's mental reasoning.

**February 7, ****1:20 am**

Should I have slept with Kouga? Support group post-mortemed dead relationship last night over beer and Cheetos at roof deck. Inu Yasha was on my case about being all chaste and pure and not going "all the way" with Kouga.

"You should have unleashed Kagima on him," he said with the authority of Kami creating world in seven days. "then maybe we would've stuck around."

"Kagima who? Where's the cheetos?" I attempted little diversionary tactics to no avail, as Inu Yasha remembers Kagima too much... I suspect Inu Yasha's out to ruin me, I concede he makes quite a sharp point sometimes that it pricks.

"Kagima you," he said offering me a swig from his bottle of San Mig light.

"Oh. Her," Kikyo acknowledged, looking a tad embarrassed for me.

Ah yes, Kagima—my alter ego with an attitude. The half of me that emerged when I was stone drunk.

Will explain: One gang bonding weekend in Baguio—upon prodding of Inu Yasha—I consumed two rum and cokes, two vodka tonics and a glass of wine in one sitting. Alcohol overload made me, uhm, particularly hot under the collar. I believed the word Inu Yasha used was "horny."

Personally, I prefer bold and brazen. I was so weird—started hitting on just about any man standing close enough to be my prey. Except we were at Mines View Park, hence the object of my—er, Kagima's—affection were trees older than Baguio itself. Inu Yasha doesn't qualify as prey-able male no matter how drunk I get.

"You were waaaay hot that night, Kag," Inu Yasha teased me. 

"Really?" I cringed.

"Scorching," he laughed. "I had to pull you back 'cause you were about to smooch a pine tree." Alrighty.

"Can we please change the subject???" In desperate attempt to change cringe-worthy topic, I sobbed into my hands. I also felt paralyzing case of Missing Kouga. "Besides, my bark is worst than my bite,"

"You got the bark right," he smirked.

"Ease up, Dog Demon," Sango said in her though-love tone. "Higurashi didn't have to do anything to keep her guy."

Ah, the voice of reason in our gang! "Thanks, S," I quipped grateful. Despite seemingly tactless ways and tough attitude, surname-calling tendency, Sango's a true friend.

But then, did Inu Yasha have a point? Did my conservative Catholic upbringing drive Kouga away? Not like we didn't do anything physically. We did. A lot of kissing, touching and fondling and groping.

Perhaps Inu Yasha is right as I am very territorial about my body. I have my mom to thank for fortress-like protective tendencies, or perhaps blame, now that we were holding memorial for my love life. Mom always used to give me The Lecture: "You give him the tip of your finger, he'/ll ask for your hand,. You give your hand; he'll take your arm." And so on and so forth until a guy "traveled south of the border, if you know what I mean," was Mom's exact words.

So even with eyes closed while kissing, I knew just when Kouga's hands were about to stray into my No Entry Territory. Every time he ventured underneath the V-neck of my baby blue sweater, my hand would seize his frisky fingers automatically. Like I had an inner tracking device that warned me of trespassers.

And this is really embarrassing, but here's a secret; the first time Kouga got to see my uhm, breasts in their naked splendor, I cried. 

I sobbed into his chest all night that his shirt gone all soppy and soiled with my tears.

He didn't touch me with a 10-foot pole for a whole month after that. I was starting to get annoyed actually, but I didn't know how to give him the go signal to try again. Should I really have slept with him?

"You know my take on this?" Kikyo chimed in prettily.

"What?"

"The truth? He was way too cute for you, girl. He was bound to leave."

I'm still trying to find solace in Kikyo's words of wisdom as she is my gorgeous best friend, who has gotten every guy she's wanted since we were 12 years old. I can't. This Cause of Relationship's Death not any better than the "I should have slept with Kouga" argument. I'm beginning to feel a burn on my forehead, as if I'm being branded in manner of cattle before the slaughter.

Am a Loser.

**February 8, ****9:15 pm**

I cannot believe my own mother is prying into my sex life!

My ex-near-sex life rather.

She called me on my cell today. Aunt Kaede must have told her about The Breakup plus my detailed breakdown scene at BC. Suddenly, my tears gushed as if La Mesa dam broke in my bedroom. It was so comforting to hear Mom's voice, to hear her consoling me the way she did when I scraped my knee while playing dodge ball in grade school. Or how she caressed me in my sleep every time I had a high ever. I could almost smell the scent of Jergen's hand lotion and Pond's cold cream lulling me to sleep.

Bad case of missing mom have me bawling, "Come and get me now, Mom! When will you send for me?"

"Don't worry, child. Give me just a little more time."

Just as I was getting sentimental and mushy, mom eased into lecture mode:

        "You'll get over him," she reassured me. "It only gets hard to recover when you've already given yourself to a guy."

Ha! Loaded with so much meaning. Mom was obviously fishing for my reaction as she continued, "Just remember, when you give your finger, he'll ask for your hand…"

I pretended to have second bout with nervous breakdown to change the topic, and mom momentarily shifted to world news. 

        Mom: Have you been watching CNN?

        Me: Sniff, yes, sniff, sniff. Why?

        Mom: Well there's some really disturbing news these days.

        Me: I know, Mom-war, violence, all the useless fighting.

        Mom: And that new medicine call The orgasm Pill?

        Me (reddening): Oh OK.

        Mom: How outrageous! I mean, whatever happened to good, old-fashioned love and marriage? A pill for orgasms! What's the world coming 

                to? (No pun intended by Mom here, I'm sure.)

        Me (shrugging, attempting best approximation of total innocence): Don't know

        Mom (whispering): Do you… know…what an… orgasm is?

        Me: Mom!

        Mom: I mean, you're so young.

        Me (in best defensive, I'm-quite-mature-thank-you tone): Mom, I'm 23. Of course I know what an orgasm is. Read all about it in _Cosmo._

        Mom (tersely and haltingly; I'm pretty sure she was grasping an armchair to keep from succumbing to dizzy spell): Well. Do you…know… 

                what…it…feels…like?

        Icantbeliveshedoingitagain!

        Me (mimicking static over the phone): Mom, you're breaking up, breaking up…

        Mom: But I thought that was you, dear.

                                                                             * * *

I was beginning to get used to a worsening state of insomnia. Quiet nights stretched out like a now-comfortable road. I sometimes spend the night thumbing through old journals, recently I've taken to analyzing body language in old photos to search for early clues I might have missed regarding the demise of my relationship with Kouga. Then later on, tired from body language analysis, I think up reconciliation scenes and that's when I finally begin crying myself to sleep.

But tonight an unidentified number was interrupting my misery and persistently ringing my cell phone at such an unholy hour. 

The display flashed "Private Number".

Who was this? Oh Kami—did Kouga change his phone number? Was he calling me just to hear the sound of my voice? Or—paranoia alert!—was this the new girl in his life checking me out?

She had probably rifled through his phone book while he wa in the bathroom or something@ Girls can be such nosy sneaks!

My heart thumped wildly as I picked up the call.

"Hello?" I said softly.

"I'm calling for Kikyo Kinimoto," said the female voice.

"Who is this?"

Exasperated sigh. "I'm looking for Kikyo Kinimoto please."

"This isn't her phone…"

"Then why the hell did she give this number to me?" she asked, sounding real pissed.

"I don't know," I meekly replied. "But this is her best friend Kagome."

"Well, Kagome, can you pass on this message? Tell her to show up at the M offices Monday morning, nine am. It's an emergency model call."

Stunned silence,. Kikyo was going to model for M???

My favorite magazine in the universe???

"Who shall I say is calling?" I asked, still in shock.

"Tell her it's Kagura…" the voice tersely said. "Kagura Onigumo of _M _magazine."

No way!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~````

Massao: well… I hope that was satisfying enough! Grin… Really, I'll try to update next week, it's periodicals wk and I need to study real well or else I won't graduate!!! Luv ya all and kindly leave a review! No flames!


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